Every day the ditzy media is sent scrambling to "get out the facts to refute the lies". This is what keeps them on a perpetual leash. They know this but are bound to it nonetheless. Of course, anyone else the Trumptard Liars can corral into their pigpen they'll gladly take to join them in the mud. After all, worst thing for a moron is to be a moron all by yourself.
So when the arsonist-in-chief goes around setting fire after fire the liars are in hog heaven raping the truth. The lying crowd LOVES these questions:
Is Russia our enemy?
Is Trump evil?
Is Trump trying to rig everything in his favor?
Is Hillary a better person than The Donald?
Is the President desperately incompetent?
Are Republicans Satan worshipers?
The list goes on and on when it comes to "getting to the bottom of things" Trumptards never care to get to the bottom of. These cretins will insist on their answers regardless of truth or consequences. But there is one question they truly hate and avoid at all costs: "Does truth matter?"
If the media were to ask that question after every lie instead of wasting time debating open and known facts, defenders of the lie would find it a withering response. That's because it eventually leads to the question, "Why are you lying?" That, of course, is their greatest fear, facing the moment of final revelation - one that is coming anyway whether anyone admits it or not.
For those fools who answer the truth does not matter or that only "certain" truths matter and not the whole truth, they most certainly still need to answer for themselves. So if one does insist on talking points and engaging with the enema, one need simply to turn the tables and reply "Fake news!" to whatever answer they give.
I sat at the table, eyes to the ceiling, concentrating on what I'd write next. When it came to me, I furiously scribbled down the word. Out of the corner of her eye, she was curiously incensed:
"What did you just write?"
I quickly yanked the paper out of sight in hasty guilt of her always dreaded and feared gaze, the curse of my liar's life.
"Nothing."
"WHAT DID YOU WRITE!"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
She lunged at but missed the paper. "You wrote about me again, didn't you, you fucker?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Why indeed!" she deftly parries.
"Who am I? What do you care what I write?"
"You're nobody. Now show me that paper before I bite your head off."
"Feels like you already are."
"I have not yet begun to bite."
"What does it matter what I write? You have your own life. You don't need me."
"Never mind about what I need. Now I want to see that paper!"
"Jesus! How could it be that important to you! Hell, if I thought anything I wrote meant anything to you I wouldn't have the nerve to write it in the first place."
"Don't give me that crap. You write what you want whenever you want."
My cat dander was up. "I know you've convinced yourself of that but I live and die by you."
"I've seen no evidence of that."
"You didn't look in my heart."
"You'd need one first."
"Thanks..."
She stepped back, realizing she'd hurt me. She wasn't mad she hurt me, only that she misjudged whether or not she could. Now I held the moral high ground but she was still infuriated at my holding out. If I were anything I'd give her everything. I don't want her finding out I'm really nothing. She reads that note and she'll have all the proof she needs. She reads it and she loses any possible interest in me. At least this way I still have her attention despite the storm of her withering anger.
"I'm not responsible for your life," she said, folding her arms.
"I know that." That one hurt to get out. I really did want her to somehow make up for my insecurities. "But if I can make you angry enough you won't have to worry about my needing you. How can I ask for your time?"
"You're impossible. I don't know why I waste my breath. What was I thinking befriending you?"
She was thinking she was hoping to find out something about herself, what I really thought. To me she's a dream come true, a rare understanding of life that can't be taught or told; a childhood friend I finally got to meet. She knew I was hiding my feelings and wanted to crush me for it. I was drowning in guilt. Courage failed me as before. I so dearly wished to confess! But then she'd never speak to me again and that I couldn't take.
I slowly and deliberately walked over to the roaring fireplace and threw in the note. I looked down as I could not face her as she spoke.
"I don't ever want to see you again."
The hurt look in her face I'll never forget as I furtively glanced upward. From that moment forward I cannot hate myself enough. She hasn't talked to me now ten years on. I'm still pained by those three fatal words I threw away:
Lettuce Napkins Cheese
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Later she wrote this poetry bomb - and I was really confused:
Amelie was furious and aghast watching the conservative snowflake commentating on TV.
"What's wrong with you people?" complained the blue-eyed blonde female from her high definition glory. "Why can't everyone be white! Sure, I understand not everyone can be white: we do need maids, lawn mowers and other servants. But I'm talking about people who count. People in charge need to be white. This country was made by whites, for whites, and to the benefit of whites. That's the way it's always been and the way it always has to be!"
The President was quick to chime in with total agreement and his cultist followers were whipped into a wild frenzy of hate and blame. "Immigrants make my life suck!" "I can't never be happy if everyone ain't white!" "Color means criminal!" Like a psychotic pyromaniac, the President laughed at the raging wildfires he helped stoke across the country. If he couldn't have the world the way he wanted, he was going to burn it down.
Cruelty had lost its shame, openly conducted with greater boldness each passing day. Yet there were still those determined to fight the good fight - such as Amelie. She was actively part of campaigning for those who would bring justice in her eyes. The pictures of crying children tortured on orders of the President pained her heart into despair. Hope was dying before her eyes.
Morons tried to counter the President's politics with facts, logic, and reason - overlooking that politics is not based on facts, logic, and reason. But Amelie realized that without truth there can be no future. She was horrified by those who gleefully claim they are saving lives by destroying them. They are all too eager to follow the evil of their leader and swallow every word he said not because they thought he spoke the truth but because they knew his words to be lies - lies that would infuriate the very people they hate.
The anti-truthers had never known such power before. If not stopped, nothing would be left of the country and the human damage incalculable. It would mean tragedy on a scale never seen before. Amelie could not let that happen. Not on her watch. She felt her life depended on it. And these monsters who wreaked this havoc of unrepentant destruction and chaos she could not understand. They were clearly beyond reason.
Amelie tore herself away from her outrage long enough to answer her doorbell. A fellow warrior had come over and the two women greeted each other with a hug. Conversation quickly turned to the latest outrages and insanity being committed in the name of the people.
"What confounds me the most," complained Amelie, "is how anyone can be so delusional. His supporters live in a complete fantasy world and just don't give a damn about what happens to anyone else. It's like a nightmare that never ends. They have absolutely no regard for what is or isn't true. They just make up whatever story they want!"
Her friend was about to reply when she noticed a wadded paper in the trash can. It looked suspiciously familiar.
"Did you get another note from the creep?" Amelie refused to respond. As her friend reached down to fish out the paper Amelie made a lurch forward to stop her but then resigned herself to doing nothing. The note read:
Amelie, I know what I've done is unforgivable and there's no living with me, but I will never be whole without you. I walk as a half-person, fractured by your absence. I cannot survive like this. How could you think otherwise?
The friend sighed knowing the fight she was in for. "You're going to have to face him. You'll never be able to move on until you do. Do you really want to die alone in a Jewish nursing home?"
"Leave me alone. I don't want to hear it."
"You have to hear it! It's been years now. He's dying and it bothers you. I'm not telling you how to resolve it, just that you need to."
"I don't care. I'm not talking or responding to him in any form or fashion and that's final."
"And after he's dead? Then what?"
"He's not dying! He's just saying that!"
"But what if it's true?"
"I don't care what is or is not true! I'm not changing that it's it! Don't you say another word! I'm sticking to my story no matter what."
